


your spot next to me (feels so empty)

by Yersina



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Princes & Princesses, but it definitely doesn't have to be read that way, how to write a medieval au with the least amount of research possible, i wrote this to be platonic, more fluff than angst hopefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 07:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersina/pseuds/Yersina
Summary: Minho misses the days when this wouldn’t even be an issue, when he and Jisung were basically attached at the hip and would know about each other’s worries almost before they even happened. “We’re growing up, aren’t we,” he finally settles on.





	your spot next to me (feels so empty)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Minho!!! Here's to another year of your weird dumbassery!
> 
> (Title from Stray Kids' 4419)

“One, two—put more back into it,” Minho barks, easily deflecting Felix’s lunge with his own sword and giving the other time to collect himself.

Felix grins despite the admonishment and pushes his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “If I put any more back into it, I’ll be flat on the ground.” He half-heartedly jabs in Minho’s direction again, so Minho takes the opportunity to sidestep nimbly and give Felix a gentle shove, sending him stumbling.

“Exactly,” Minho retorts smugly, before sighing as Felix nearly drops his sword in his attempts to regain his balance. Felix is already leaps and bounds ahead of the other new recruits, which is why Minho bothered to pick him out of the batch at all, but he still has a long way to go. “Take a break. Maybe go find a water pitcher so you don’t die of dehydration.”

“Aw, you do care!” Felix’s bright grin dims when he sees Minho sheathe his sword. “I can keep going.” The protest is weak, though, and Minho’s trained eye can see the way his limbs are on the verge of shaking with exhaustion.

“It doesn’t do either of us any good for you to push yourself to the point of injury,” Minho says, not unkindly. “Rest and we’ll pick up tomorrow.”

The wide-eyed look of shock on Felix’s face is all the warning Minho gets before a very familiar weight pounces on his back. “Minho!” It’s only several years of long-suffering experience and quick reflexes that keeps both himself and the youngest prince from toppling to the ground. “What are you up to?”

Minho staggers theatrically and throws in a desperate cough for good measure. Jisung swats at his shoulder but obediently loosens his grip around Minho’s neck. “I’m currently dying under your weight, Your Highness—have you been snacking in the kitchens at midnight again?”

“That was once,” Jisung whines into his ear. “It was mostly your fault I was up that late anyway. When are you going to let it go?”

“Never.”

“Are you sure you should be so stubborn with my teeth so close to your face?”

Minho gasps. “Are you threatening me when I have Felix as a witness? Maybe people will finally believe me when I tell them about your gremlin tendencies.”

Jisung _ very purposefully _ kicks him in the stomach as he attempts to inch his way up Minho’s torso for a better view of a still shellshocked Felix. “Are you one of the new recruits? Your name is Felix? You must be really good, if Minho’s giving you private lessons.”

Minho only feels mild pity for the way Felix just stares, overwhelmed, at what must be a very earnestly curious expression on Jisung’s face. It takes everyone a moment to adjust to the youngest prince unfiltered. “Uh, yes, Your Highness. I mean—yes, I’m Felix. Um, Felix Lee. Lee Felix? I don’t know if I’m good, but I think I am. Oh god, forgive me, Your Highness.” Felix buries his face in his hands and Minho doesn’t bother to stifle his laugh. “No, don’t make fun of me,” Felix whines.

“Just ignore Minho,” Jisung says dismissively. “He laughs at everyone because he’s an awful person.”

“I am an _ amazing _ person, thank you very much.”

“An amazingly awful person.” Jisung wriggles in his hold, which Minho knows to mean that he wants to get down, but he just holds on tighter. “Let me go!”

“Not until you apologize,” Minho sings, spinning them around once. The teasing is made entirely worth it by how Felix looks utterly baffled. He’s on his fourth spin when Jisung frantically pats at his face. 

“No, no, let me down, I’m gonna puke—” And with that, the prince is dumped unceremoniously on the ground to catch his breath. “Ugh, you suck.”

“You kicked me in the stomach!”

“On accident!”

Minho makes a doubtful sound. The hand he reaches out to help the prince stand up is batted away. “See if I ever indulge you again, Your Highness.”

“See if I ever _ want _ you to indulge me again, Lee Minho,” Jisung grumbles, dusting off his clothes. Now that Minho can actually see him, he can tell that the prince is dressed in casual clothing, still stubbornly clinging to his summer linens even though the chill of winter is starting to bite into the warm breezes. Casual clothing means only one thing—

“You slipped out of your lessons again,” Minho accuses. He would be delighted that the prince deemed him worthy enough to risk a scolding for, but the last time, the palace tutor had sought _ Minho _ out and chewed him out for distracting the prince when it had been _ Jisung _ who had decided that frog catching was much, much more important than learning about the royalty of their neighboring kingdoms. He still hasn’t managed to get the grass stains out of that set of clothes. “Shame on you, Prince Jisung.”

The way that Jisung’s eyes cut to the side is as telling as the way he starts fidgeting with his fingers. “The tutor let me out early—so, Lee Felix, right? How are you liking castle life so far?”

Felix glances wildly between Minho and Jisung, uncertainty broadcasting loud and clear on his face. “Um, it’s nice? I’m from much further south, so it’s not just the castle that’s a new experience. Your Highness,” he tacks on hastily. 

Jisung practically vibrates with excitement at this information. “I hear that if you go far enough south, the seasons reverse themselves and there’s snow when it’s the height of summer here. Is that true?”

“It is,” Felix confirms. “Usually around now, we’d be preparing for it to get warmer, not cooler. Though my family lives near the coast, so it doesn’t get too cold in the winter or too hot in the summer—but the weather is nice here too,” he adds quickly, as if he thinks Jisung will be offended at the idea that their weather is too temperamental. “The sea breeze usually keeps things a lot cooler there.”

Jisung’s eyes are sparkling. “Whoa. When I was younger, my father—the king—” as if anyone in the conversation had forgotten— “made me stay in a different kingdom to see what other lands were like so I could ‘appreciate others,’” he says, complete with air quotes, “and it was super hot there all the time. _ All _the time,” he emphasizes. “You should take me to your hometown someday.”

_ “Okay,” _ Minho interrupts, seeing the panic manifest on Felix’s face. Next thing he knows, Jisung will have invited himself over to a hypothetical lunch and introduced himself to Felix’s parents and extended family. “What did you interrupt our training session for?”

“It’s not interrupting if you were already done,” Jisung pouts. “I waited and everything!”

Minho pointedly looks down at his light training armor and sword still strapped to his waist. “You could have at least waited until I was changed.”

_ “Fine, _ come on, stop complaining.” Jisung grabs him by the arm before he has time to protest and drags him off towards the knights’ barracks. “It was nice to meet you, Felix! Thanks for letting me have Minho! You can go ahead and take the rest of the day off,” he calls over his shoulder before shoving Minho forward for not walking fast enough. “Come _ on, _ I need to be out of the main courtyards before the tutor figures out that I’m not really in the bathroom with a really bad stomach ache.”

“Stop ordering my knights around,” Minho grumbles. “And you’d think that he’d wise up to that excuse after last time.” He doesn’t bother to stifle the chuckle that escapes him when Jisung exaggeratedly peers around the corner of the hall to check if the coast is clear. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking to see if there’s anyone in the hallway.” Having deemed it safe, Jisung continues dragging him down the passageway.

“Like that? Anyone who was there would’ve spotted your huge head right away.” Minho giggles again at Jisung’s offended “YAH!” 

They make it back to Minho’s room without incident and Minho leaves Jisung outside, tapping his foot impatiently. Stripping out of his armor quickly, he hesitates. The prince’s little adventures are always a mystery to him—the last time was frog catching, but the time before that, Jisung had accosted him after dinner and dragged him to the lower town to watch a play. Should he save another set of clothes from a beating and just wear the grass-stained one?

“Are you done yet?” Jisung’s shout is barely dampened by the door.

“I’ll be done when you learn to be patient,” he yells back. He doesn’t need to be on the other side of the door to see Jisung’s cross look. 

He stares at his clothes for a beat longer before pulling out a clean shirt and pants. He also grabs a smaller, unobtrusive knife and tucks it away. Better safe than sorry. 

Opening the door with a flourish, he strikes a pose. “How do I look?”

“Nowhere near as handsome as I do,” Jisung deadpans, unimpressed. Without waiting for a response, he grabs Minho’s hand and tugs him down the hallway. “You take so long when you change clothes, I nearly grew moss waiting for you.”

“Not all of us have attendants to assist us with our clothes, Your Highness. Minho has to make do with his own two hands.” The pace that Jisung sets is right on the verge of breaking into a run, rushing through the hallways without much thought for others. They nearly bump into a pair of maids walking by with a basket of laundry and the bitten-off curse that one of them lets out before she notices the prince is enough to send Minho into peals of laughter. 

It’s not until they make it out of the castle proper, dodging messengers and maids and other passersby, that Jisung slows down to a more reasonable pace. Minho recognizes the path to the castle courtyard, but he doesn’t know why Jisung would want to travel there. Even as a knight, he’s never had to patrol this far. 

Jisung’s grip tightens. “Minho’s hands should work faster then,” he says with a pout. It takes Minho a moment to remember what Jisung is referring to.

“Minho’s hands need some incentive,” he replies, lifting an eyebrow. 

Jisung’s pout deepens and he pokes a finger into his own cheek, which is already enough to make Minho want to shove his face away. “They get to spend more time holding Jisungie’s hands?” It takes close to no effort to pull the prince into a headlock. “Ow, ow, stop, I was kidding!” Jisung’s flailing is hardly enough to present any challenge to Minho, but he decides to be merciful for once. “Jeez, you’re so violent today.”

“I’m a knight,” Minho says flatly. “My job description is literally to be violent.”

“I bet Felix wouldn’t be so mean to me,” Jisung grumbles, dusting off his clothes. “He seems much nicer than you are.”

Minho sniffs primly. “Felix is a gentle soul.”

“Makes you wonder why he decided to become a knight.” 

Minho blinks. He’d never— “Why does it matter why he decided to become a knight?” He refuses to shrink back under Jisung’s incredulous stare.

“You don’t know why your own knights decided to join?” Jisung brings them to a stop next to a set of gates that Minho knows from experience to lead into the palace courtyard. Minho waits for him to undo the latch, but Jisung instead turns back towards him, hands on his hips. “Aren’t you ever curious where they’re going when they request leave to go home?”

“No?” Minho answers truthfully. Even if he wanted to know—which he doesn’t, no matter how much Jisung gives him the disappointed look that Minho is (not) ridiculously weak to—he doesn’t have the time. “It’s hard enough just keeping track of _ your _ life.”

“It’s not like I _ asked _ you to do that,” Jisung grumbles under his breath. Minho just gives him a flat look. “Besides, I know how you ended up here, and I’m not even your boss.”

“Well, sure, but—” But of _ course _Jisung would know. Jisung’s known since the first day Minho got back from visiting the small farming town he’d grown up in and Jisung had tearfully accosted Minho the moment he realized he was back on the castle grounds. It had taken a hasty explanation and a promise of sweets before Jisung had even begun considering letting him go. 

Even his own parents hadn’t been that excited to have him back. 

“Minho?” He focuses back on Jisung, staring at him curiously. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he replies breezily, putting the matter out of his mind. He can always ask Felix himself later, if he’s still curious. “Please don’t tell me you dragged me all the way out here just to get some exercise. I get enough of that on my own, thank you very much.”

Jisung rolls his eyes and leads them through the gates of the courtyard, but instead of heading down the stone path to the pavilion that Minho knows is in the center, he takes a left and leads them further away from the castle. “Changbin was complaining to me the other day about how he’s tired of eating apples ‘cause he’s had them basically every meal for the past several days, and even though the cooks are doing their best to make them in other ways, apples are apples are apples, and he’s not the biggest fan of them to begin with—” 

Minho tunes Jisung out in favor of looking around and taking in the scenery that the court gardeners work so diligently to maintain. Most of the flowers are lost on him, since he grew up looking at vegetables, but a row of elegant, tubular flowers draws his eye. They look startlingly similar to a pitcher that he could find on the dinner table, with a singular, white petal that curled into itself. “Hey, Jisung.” He tugs on Jisung’s hand, cutting the prince’s rambling off. “What’s that?”

“Hm? Oh, I think that’s a type of lily. Chan pointed it out to me at one point, I think, while we were walking through the gardens together. I don’t know why he’d call it a lily though, it doesn’t look anything like the lilies I’ve seen before. Anyway, we’re here!” Jisung gestures enthusiastically at yet another closed gate.

“I _ really _ hope you didn’t drag me all the way out here to look at a couple of pieces of wood,” Minho says flatly. “That headlock from earlier is going to be the least of your worries.”

“Seriously, so violent.” Jisung unlatches the gate with difficulty, letting go of Minho’s hand so he can wrestle with the rust that binds the metal together. Minho wipes his hand discreetly on his leg. Jisung’s hand must have been more sweaty that he’d thought, if his hand feels so cold with the breeze blowing on it. “This must be the back entrance…”

“I couldn’t have guessed.”

“AH HAH!” Jisung yells triumphantly, throwing the gate open. “Ye of little faith.”

“I’ll have faith when you stop dragging me into the forgotten recesses of the castle…” Minho trails off once he registers what’s on the other side of the gate. From the castle side, it had looked like Jisung was leading him to a particularly sparse forest, but now that he can see the trees— “Are those apples?”

“Yep!” Jisung bounces up to the nearest tree and plucks a low-hanging fruit from the tree, presenting to him the reddest apple Minho has ever seen. “When Changbin was complaining about the apples, I remembered that we have an agreement with the nearest farming village that they can use some of the extra castle land in return for some of their produce. Chan’s been trying to see if we can turn it over to them for permanent use, but until then, we still technically own everything here.” 

“Wow.” Minho takes the apple from Jisung, turning it over in his hands. The skin is waxy and smooth, glinting in the afternoon light. “I know you don’t really like apples though, so why come out here?”

The long silence prompts him to look up at Jisung, who’s wringing his fingers together and staring at the ground. “Well, you’re leaving for Chuseok soon, and you always get stressed around this time of year because you need to organize all the new recruits before the winter comes, since it gets hard to practice outside… I just thought you might think it’d be nice to get away from it all for a while.”

Minho’s heart bursts with fondness. _ Seriously, this boy… _ “How could I say no to such thoughtful going-away gift,” he coos, reaching over so he can squish Jisung’s cheek. “You’re lucky that at one of us likes apples.”

Jisung bats his hand away with a noise of disgust, blush starting to darken at the praise. “Stop it.” He’s sure Jisung meant it as a firm order, but it comes out as a whine. “I’m sure that they have something other than apples in this place.”

“We’re never going to know if we don’t look.” Minho offers his arm to Jisung, who takes it eagerly. “Come on, let’s go apple hunting.”

Time flies by as they run around the orchard, chasing each other and climbing trees. Jisung refuses to touch any of the fruit, claiming that he ate before he left the castle (even though Minho knows that he likes to snack throughout the day and can hear his stomach growling). Minho eats no less than three apples before Jisung’s wild shout from further ahead has him jumping up in alarm. “MINHO!”

“WHAT?” he yells back. “IF YOU’RE DEAD, I CAN’T SAVE YOU.”

Jisung’s head pops out from behind a tree trunk, eyes narrowed, and Minho breathes a slight sigh of relief. “I feel like the longer I know you, the less you make sense.” 

“It’s a selling point. What do you want?”

“So rude.”

“Also a selling point.” Minho tosses the core of his most recent apple on the ground and wipes his hands on his pants. “What were you yelling at me for?”

“Oh!” Darting over and dragging Minho after him for the nth time that day, Jisung excitedly flails in the direction of the trees in front of them. “I found pears!” Minho makes the appropriate sound of appreciation. He personally feels about the same towards apples and pears, but he knows Jisung likes the latter far more. “But they’re too high for me, so I need your help.”

They stop in front of a tree. Minho has to crane his neck up to even see the brown fruit dangling between the branches. “I know you’re short, Your Highness, but even people taller than you can’t reach that high.”

“Yah!” Minho laughs as he dodges the roundhouse kick aimed at his back. “I’m barely shorter than you! Eye level with your nose _ at most,” _ Jisung stresses. 

“Still shorter,” Minho sing-songs. “It doesn’t help with reaching the pears though.” 

Jisung places his hands on Minho’s shoulders, serious expression plastered onto his face. Minho blinks rapidly as attempts to figure out what Jisung is doing, but all his thoughts fly out the window when Jisung shoves his head down and clambers onto his back. 

“HAN JISUNG!” Minho screeches, tipping precariously. “If you fall over and crack your head open, I’ll resurrect you and kill you myself!”

“If you were better at holding me, maybe I wouldn’t die!” Jisung yells back, grip painfully tight on Minho’s hair. It takes staggering around in a circle and both Jisung and Minho nearly hitting their heads on a tree to finally get the prince balanced on his shoulders. “Onwards, trusty steed!”

“Just you wait,” Minho mutters darkly, carefully positioning Jisung underneath the bough with pears. “I’ll get you back for this. Someday, when you’re not expecting it—_ bam. _ Payback. ”

A pear descends into his field of vision. “What are you mumbling to yourself down there? It’s a bit early for you to be going senile, isn’t it?” He takes the pear from Jisung and carefully tosses it to the ground next to the tree trunk so he can return his hand to its grip around Jisung’s calves. 

“I’m two years older than you. _ Two years. _ Less than two years, actually.”

“A lot can happen in two years.” Jisung knocks his arms against the top of Minho’s head, hands clearly full, and Minho slowly lowers him to the ground so Jisung can slide off his back. “I’ll come of age in less than a year.” He cocks his head to the side, holding one of the pears in his hands out. “Want some?”

“Sure.” He takes the pear and stares at it unseeingly. He had almost forgotten about Jisung’s coming of age, despite the frenzy that was starting to stir in the castle as everyone began preparing for the ceremony that would accompany the date. Once Jisung became an adult, he would likely be married off to a princess of a foreign land or a duchess of a smaller province and leave the castle. And Minho… 

He startles when Jisung waves his hand in front of Minho’s face. “You’ve been staring off into space a lot lately,” he remarks concernedly. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that you need to worry about, Jisungie—” 

“Come oooon,” Jisung drawls, clinging to Minho’s arm and staring up at him pleadingly. “You know that you can tell me everything, right?”

Minho stares back, wondering how to put his thoughts into words. He misses the days when this wouldn’t even be an issue, when he and Jisung were basically attached at the hip and would know about each other’s worries almost before they even happened. But once the previous captain had started piling more and more responsibilities on Minho’s shoulders… “We’re growing up, aren’t we,” he settles on, looking off wistfully into the distance. It’s mostly for show, but he really will miss Jisung once they go their separate paths.

“Yeah, I guess.” The bitterness in Jisung’s voice surprises him.

“You’re not excited?” Minho furrows his brow. He would’ve thought that Jisung would love to leave the castle—he’d finally be out of the shadow of his older brothers and he’d have the freedom to do whatever he wished. 

Jisung rubs at the skin of the pear pensively before suddenly heaving a huge sigh, flopping onto the grass next to the pear tree and patting the ground. “Come on, sit.” 

Minho gingerly takes a seat on the ground next to him, echoing Jisung’s sigh when the prince tips over onto his shoulder. The barest hint of the bitter winter cold is slowly leeching its way into the summer breeze and he welcomes the reprieve of Jisung’s body heat. “If I find ants in my pants later, it’s going to be your fault,” he murmurs into the top of Jisung’s head. His hair smells of lavender.

“Just imagine… there could be one inching up your leg right now,” Jisung whispers back and laughs when Minho reflexively slaps at his shin. 

“Why would you ever joke about that,” he says, betrayed. 

“Grow up, you big baby.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“Touche.” 

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the crickets singing in the grass and the birds chirping in the trees. It’s peaceful but boring, and after a minute or two, Minho shifts minutely so he can pull out his knife and start peeling the pear he had tossed down earlier. 

“I don’t know,” Jisung begins, burrowing further into Minho’s shoulder. “It doesn’t make any sense, and it’s stupid. I just… I like the way things are now, you know. I like being able to do my own thing. It’s not the greatest, having someone telling me to study the history of a bunch of people I’m probably never going to meet, but it still beats going to a land I’ve never been to before because I’ve married someone I _ have _ to marry and running the whole thing because that’s what I _ should _ do. Because that’s what I’m going to have to _ do, _ you know, once I leave.” 

Minho didn’t know, actually, but he does now, so he keeps his eyes trained on where his knife passes cleanly between the skin and flesh of the pear. He’s not good with words the way that Jisung is—the way that all of the princes are—so he just stays silent, save for a vague noise of assent. 

“The only thing that makes the whole thing bearable is the thought that you’ll be there with me.”

Minho‘s hands still. _ What? _ “What are you talking about?”

Jisung pulls away, confusion clear on his face. “What do _ you _ mean?”

“I’m staying here when you leave,” Minho offers slowly. 

“No,” Jisung corrects equally slowly. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’m the captain of the guard.”

“I’m a prince, so I beat you, hah,” Jisung says quickly, like this is a game and not _ the rest of their lives _he’s talking about. 

“Jisungie…” Minho trails off, not sure how he wants to broach this topic. “I have a duty to my knights here. I can’t just leave because you’ll be lonely and need me to be there with you. I—I have to train them and—”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“You can’t keep running from your problems—”

“Minho.” Minho bites off his automatic protest once he registers the tired note in Jisung’s voice. “Leave it, please? Just… let me enjoy this. This whole thing was as much for me as it was for you.” He lays back down on Minho’s shoulder without waiting for a reply, which is just as well, since Minho can’t speak past the lump in his throat anyway. 

He doesn’t _ want _ Jisung to leave, but it’s the natural course of life, isn’t it? He grew tired of life in his village, came here, met Jisung, became the captain, and now he’ll have to say goodbye. Who is he—or Jisung, for that matter—to try to change that? They’d already defied the odds by being friends in the first place. 

He starts peeling the pear again out of sheer frustration. What does Jisung want, anyway? It isn’t as if the prince could just spend the rest of his days in the castle, even if it sounded like he wanted to. As much as the king is lenient with his sons, there’s no way he could stand for such a thing. And that’s without Minho’s own responsibilities thrown into the mix. His mentor had entrusted his knights to Minho and he can’t—_ won’t— _throw that away. He likes Jisung and he knows that the feeling is returned, but he’s known since the first day they met that they can’t stay together forever.

He stares down at the pear in his hands, completely peeled. He doesn’t even like his fruit peeled; he finds the whole process tiresome and pointless when he doesn’t mind eating the skin. It’s Jisung who can’t stand the thought of getting it caught between his teeth. Jisung, who’s still quietly tucked into his side. He sighs and slices off a section. “Here,” he says, brusquely, offering it to Jisung. “Truce?” 

Jisung takes the piece with a small huff of a laugh. “Here’s to burying our heads in the sand.”

Minho cuts off some more for himself and bumps it against Jisung’s own. “Cheers.” 

They finish the pear in companionable silence, Minho wordlessly handing more to Jisung as he finishes chewing. When they finish the first pear, Jisung hands him a second one and Minho peels that one too. The quietness is odd, but not stifling, strangely enough. Usually, Minho’s time with Jisung is filled with noise and shouting and laughing, but somehow, this is just as good. 

The entire time, Jisung stays curled up against his side. It’s warm and cozy despite the coldness of the dirt beneath them, and it also means Minho can feel it when Jisung's shivers worsen as the evening temperature steadily drops. They’d already finished the last pear a while ago, and Minho is convinced that Jisung had been at least half-asleep for the past half hour. “Hey, Jisungie.” His voice comes out as a whisper, nearly snatched away by the ambient sounds of the orchard.

“Hm?” Jisung replies drowsily. The kittenish way he blindly burrows further into Minho’s shoulder makes affection glow in his chest and he can’t quite resist the urge to reach out and sweep his fingers gently through Jisung’s fringe. 

“We should be heading back,” he says softly, not moving an inch. “Prince Chan is probably looking for you.”

Jisung lets out a tired whine and rubs his face against the fabric of Minho’s shoulder. Minho is adoringly disgusted. “He’s gonna want to _ lecture _ me and Changbinnie will _ agree _ with him and then I’m gonna have to _ sit there _ for the whole dinner while they… project judgemental silence at me.”

“You’re surprisingly coherent for someone who’s half-asleep,” Minho teases.

“Hey, I’m… very eloquent.” Jisung groans again and sits up, rubbing at his eyes slowly. Minho’s the one to shiver this time as Jisung’s warmth leaves him. “Just… gimme a moment.”

Minho hums in agreement, watching as Jisung shakes off the last vestiges of sleepiness, patting at his own face to wake himself up. At this angle, the scant traces of sunlight still illuminating the sky give Jisung’s dark hair a reddish tinge, almost like he donned a wreath of dark flames. It catches on the angles of his cheekbones and jawline and gives him shadows where there’s usually fullness and all at once, Minho’s uncomfortably aware that he’s staring at the youngest prince of one of the largest kingdoms on this side of the continent. 

Royal. 

Ethereal. 

Untouchable.

Jisung.

Jisung, who turns to look at him, eyes wide with an open innocence. Jisung, who he’s known since he first stepped foot in the castle all those years ago. Jisung, who’s _ his _ in a way that he’ll never be to his brothers or Felix or even the king. 

Jisung, who he’ll have to let go in a few short months. 

“Minho?”

Minho gets up on automatic, his mind whirling with thoughts and yet curiously blank at the same time. Even with all of the fears and doubts dredged up during the afternoon, saying goodbye to Jisung had always seemed like a nebulous point in the future, dreaded but inevitable. 

But _ now… _Now, he knows he’ll need to force the words from his mouth before his next birthday, and he’s completely frozen. He doesn’t know how to comprehend a life where Jisung isn’t a constant fixture, where Minho doesn’t know with a certainty that rivals the movement of the stars themselves that even if he hasn’t seen Jisung for a few days, their bond is no less strong for it. 

And for the first time, Minho is scared.

How is Jisung meant to know how much he means to Minho? How does he convey the sheer depth of feeling that rises into his chest when he sees Jisung’s smile or when they collapse onto Minho’s bed side by side after a day running amok? How does he hold Jisung close if he needs to let him go? 

“Minho?” A hand on his arm shakes him from his thoughts and he focuses onto the prince. “You’ve been out of it the whole day,” Jisung says, worry clear in his voice. “Is there something wrong?”

There are too many answers to that question, so many that Minho’s mind can’t keep up with them all. Jisung’s coming of age ceremony is set in stone; no matter how much Minho wants to pull Jisung close and never let him go, he has to. He’s one man against the tide of tradition, so unless he changes something about _ himself— _

Something possesses Minho in that moment. There’s something within him that sees his fears and hopes and whispers to him, _ make him yours. _ There’s no other explanation for how his limbs move on their own, knee buckling and head bowing. He should be scared of how _ natural _ it feels, how smoothly he settles into the position and pulls the words from his head, but he has never before been more sure of his actions. It’s hasty and _ reckless, _but he clutches onto it with the tenacity of a drowning man. 

He chances a glance up at Jisung, eyes darting upwards for a split second, enough to catch the confusion and worry on Jisung’s face, before he trains his gaze on the ground in front of him again. “Prince Han Jisung,” he begins, refusing to falter when he sees Jisung jerk in surprise in his peripheral vision. He reaches a hand up and grasps Jisung’s hand, heart lurching at how strongly he returns Minho’s grip. “Third prince to this great kingdom. Brother to few, friend to more. In the greatest gift of charity, you have already provided me with that which I will cherish forever: your friendship. I am unworthy of something so precious.” 

“W—” Minho squeezes Jisung’s hand before he can finish his protest, hoping that it comes across as the reassurance it was meant to be. By this point, Jisung will have recognized the speech for what it is and Minho is too much of a coward to find out what exactly Jisung is objecting to.

The formal words bubble up from somewhere deep inside his chest, foreign and new and unexpected, but they feel so _ right _coming out of his mouth. “I have nothing within my possession that measures up to such a gift, no worldly belonging that bears such value. As such, I offer myself: my sword, my body, my life. I vow to forever hold you in the highest regard, to place you and your safety before those of my own blood and even myself for as long as I live.” 

The oath that Minho had sworn to the king had ended here, but it’s not _ enough. _ Minho _ needs _ Jisung to know how he feels. The idea that Jisung could leave the castle thinking that Minho is somehow letting him go because Minho _ doesn’t care enough— _it’s unbearable. He’s inextricably tied to the prince; even if their futures break them apart, he has no doubt that Jisung will always remain first for him. 

He finally raises his head and meets Jisung’s stare, the prince’s eyes glittering with some unnamed emotion. It might be fear—Minho’s committing treason by swearing fealty to another while still under the rule of the king, even if it is the king’s own son. If someone finds out, he’ll be exiled from the castle at best and executed at worse. The risk hardly registers, though. His heart isn’t pounding so rapidly in his chest because he’s _ afraid. _ “I cannot offer you my companionship or any certainty of future circumstances, but in their place, I offer you my heart, in the hope that it connects us regardless of distance or time. Our futures are uncertain and carry us on different paths, ones that may never bring us together again. Know that with this pledge, you remain fondly not only in my thoughts, but in my heart as well. It is yours, and will remain yours, until death.” Neither of them have wavered in their eye contact, so it’s under Jisung’s heavy stare that Minho closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the back of Jisung’s hand, heart thumping away in his throat. “Do you accept, Han Jisung?”

He hardly has to wait a second before Jisung’s other hand is brushing through his hair. The king’s hand had felt heavy, like he was holding Minho’s life in his hands and with one careless movement, it could shatter in his grasp under the weight of that responsibility. Jisung’s feels light, like he’s holding Minho’s future, like it’s a _ promise. _ “I do, Lee Minho. Rise, sir knight.”

Minho does so gracefully, hand still tucked into Jisung’s. _ “Your _ knight,” he corrects quietly. The possessive feels right in his mouth, and he wonders why he hadn’t done this before. 

“My knight.” Jisung blinks owlishly at him, which makes the corner of Minho’s mouth tick up in amusement. “You could get killed for that, you know.”

“Only if you tell someone.” Minho isn’t worried. As much as Jisung likes to chatter, he’s good at keeping a secret. 

It’s like a weight has been lifted from his chest. The oath does nothing, really, to determine the course of their futures. Jisung will still leave, Minho will still stay, and they will still part, as if the past decade of friendship could be thrown away with ease. A piece of Minho’s heart will still follow Jisung when he leaves. 

Nothing has changed, but everything is _ different. _

Now Jisung knows that Minho is _ his, _ even if Jisung leaves in half a year, or a month, or the next day. There’s no oath that Jisung can swear in return, no need for a lord to tie himself to his vassals, but Minho doesn’t need one. For all his stubbornness and impulsivity, Jisung is loyal to a fault. 

“Why… all of this?” Jisungie waves his hand around in the air vaguely. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it means so much to me, but… why?”

Minho hums. “It’s more of a formality than anything,” he muses, and now that he’s said it out loud, it feels true. Minho’s duty is to the king and his knights, sure, but it’s Jisung that he seeks out in his quiet hours, whose smile makes Minho’s heart sing in response. “My first priority was always you.”

“Even though you say I have to leave?”

Minho frowns and squeezes Jisung’s hand tighter. “Especially now that you have to leave.” He doesn’t know why Jisung just continues staring at him, flush slowly fading from his cheeks the longer they stand in silence. As each second ticks by, the doubt in his heart pulses just that much louder and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. “Oi, say something,” he blurts.

With a start, Jisung shakes himself out of whatever reverie he was drawn into. He eyes Minho for another nerve-wracking second before pouncing on him, looping his arms around his neck without warning and all but suffocating Minho in one fell swoop. “I love you too, you giant doofus.”

Minho coughs weakly for show, but he returns the hug just as tightly. “I never said anything about love,” he mumbles into Jisung’s shoulder, but even he knows that it’s a lie. Jisung just scoffs and burrows in impossibly closer. 

They stand there for a few timeless beats, Jisung’s hair tickling his cheek, before Minho reluctantly notes the position of the sun. “Seriously, if we don’t get back, it won’t just be you getting a talking-to. It doesn’t do for the captain of the guard to get a dressing down by the crown prince for stealing away the third prince—against his will, I might add.” He doesn’t move an inch.

“This was all part of my master plan.” Jisung whispers an approximation of an evil laugh into Minho’s shoulder. “All of this was orchestrated so that I wouldn’t be the one taking all of the blame when we go back.”

_ “Betrayal,” _ Minho hisses, letting go as if he was burned and struggling to get out of Jisung’s hold. “I _ trusted _ you and this is how you repay me? I want my fealty back.”

Jisung shakes his head vigorously, arms wrapped tightly around Minho’s chest. “Nope, that’s not how this works. You’re stuck with me forever now, no take-backs.” 

Minho looks up to the heavens for patience. “What are you, five?”

“I might as well be, for how old _ you _ are.”

_ “Two years. _ It’s _ two years.” _

“Old man.”

“Young brat.” If his face weren’t plastered to Minho’s chest, he’s completely certain that Jisung would’ve stuck his tongue out at Minho. He sighs, replacing his arms around Jisung and rubbing gentle circles into his back. “If you make me traipse back to the castle in the pitch black, I’m going to point blank refuse to go out with you for a full week.”

It’s not Minho’s best threat, but it’s enough to make Jisung pull away in indignation. “I can’t believe you’d threaten me.” He frowns at Minho, but Minho can see the glimmer of humor in his eyes. “I’m a prince, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Minho says sweetly, raising an eyebrow. “Prince who? All I see is a disobedient brat who doesn’t know how to listen to his elders.”

Jisung bites off a curse and shoves Minho away, watching distastefully as Minho collapses on the ground laughing. “I hate you.”

“You _ love _ me,” Minho sings back. 

“Yeah, I do,” Jisung sighs, and Minho knows that it’s probably meant to come out begrudgingly, but all he hears is the fondness and his heart sighs happily in return. “You’re right, we should probably head back.”

“So _ now _ you want to listen to me,” he mutters, pushing off from the ground and dusting his clothes roughly. “I pity your future spouse.” Once he’s deemed himself insect and dirt free, he glances at Jisung, only to pull up short at the annoyed look on Jisung’s face. “Is something wrong?”

The expression is gone in an instant, but its presence is like a bucket of ice water on his good mood. “For someone who’s so impatient to get home, you sure are taking a long time,” Jisung says, crossing his arms with a put-upon huff. It hurts that he _ has _to know that Minho knows that Jisung’s covering up whatever had originally put that look on his face and is still choosing to lie anyway, but Minho does his best to brush it off. Jisung’s allowed his secrets, even if there are so few between them. 

“Lead us home then, oh wise sage,” he says instead, propping his hands on his hips with a mock frown. “Or did you forget that you dragged me to the one part of the castle grounds that I’m not familiar with?”

Jisung rolls his eyes and grabs Minho’s hand, leading them in a seemingly random direction. “It’s not my fault that you’re completely and utterly directionally challenged.”

“And who was it that got us home that one time you decided to follow a butterfly up a stream?” Minho retorts, doing his best not to stumble over any tree roots in his path. “Would it kill you to slow down a bit? Not all of us are keen on tripping.”

Jisung takes this as the challenge that this absolutely is _ not _ and starts jogging instead, adjusting his grip so that their hands are properly joined. “Hey, you’re the one that said we should get back to the castle soon. I’m just listening to what I’m told to do for once.” Somehow, he manages to twist around and give Minho a teasing grin without smacking face-first into a tree. “Of course, I can slow down if you can’t keep up.”

And it’s so _ stupid _ the way Minho’s heartbeat picks up and an answering smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he speeds up until he’s running alongside Jisung instead of being pulled along by him. “Don’t be stupid,” he throws back, easily keeping pace with Jisung. “I could outrun you any day.”

“It’s not a race if you don’t know where you’re going!”

“I don’t need to know where I’m going to beat you!”

Minho nearly impales himself on a tree branch and Jisung almost twists his ankle in a sudden dip in the ground, but they miraculously make it out of both the orchard and the gardens without any injury. A wild laugh tears itself out of Minho’s throat because he _ knows _ this part of the castle, knows this land like he knows the blade of his sword, and now he’s the one pulling Jisung along behind him because there’s something incredibly _ freeing _ about tearing through the orderly grounds without any regard for decorum. 

The sun has settled beneath the horizon but the last of its light still hides the stars from view, so it’s under the dim light of the half moon that Minho glimpses Jisung, features half-hidden but still oh-so familiar. In the next moment, Jisung’s eyes slide from the path and catch his own for a split second, and it takes every bit of muscle memory that Minho has to keep from tripping over thin air. An instant later Minho’s quick stumble is a distant memory but his eyes still see an echo of the way that Jisung’s eyes had glittered in the moonlight, cheeks flushed from wind and affection clear on his face. 

Another delirious giggle bubbles up, completely unprompted. Jisung’s hand tightens against his in response, an unspoken question against his palm, but Minho merely squeezes his hand in an equally silent answer. No words pass between them the rest of the way to the castle, but he thinks they can understand each other perfectly fine without them. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not suuuuper happy with this one but it's basically the best it'll get without me reworking the entire thing, so yay, laziness wins! (this was just supposed to be apple picking fluff, why is it so Angsty.) also, i miiiight have ideas for sequels?? but we will see. 
> 
> for those of you who are curious, calla lilies have a lot of different meanings (both negative and positive), among which is "loyalty/faithfulness". they're also the most easily described flower that blooms in the fall, so there's that too. 
> 
> you can find me on basically everything! [tumblr](https://littlenookofnonsense.tumblr.com/) | [twt](https://twitter.com/yersin_a) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yersin_a)


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